Natasha was picked up from the oncology ward by her cousin, Lisa. Lisa, a successful artist, was an open, kind, and cheerful person. She never beat around the bush, so as she supported Natasha to the car, she laid everything out as it was:
“Tash, well, you know… your David is living with some bimbo now, but don’t worry. You have a place to stay. I won’t abandon you, and I’ll help as much as I can.”
Natasha, having undergone surgery followed by several rounds of chemotherapy, was bald, thin, and pale. She thought that typically, at this point, one would faint, cry, or tear at their hair, but she had none left anyway.
She could, theoretically, act like she fainted and fall right into a puddle, but she felt bad ruining Lisa’s white coat, which Lisa had dressed her in because it was autumn and cold.
The car was warm, but Lisa wrapped her sister in a fur blanket, buckled her seatbelt, and drove her to a new chapter. As they drove, Lisa explained to Natasha:
“I bought a house for myself two years ago. Thought I’d live and paint there during the summer, but I stayed and realized it’s not for me. I’m used to conveniences, huge shops, and being surrounded by people.
I can’t stand the silence. I was at the house yesterday; the heating works, water runs, the rest is up to you. There’s a grocery shop, but I brought you supplies. I’ll visit.”
In the yard sat a large ginger dog. Waving its fluffy tail vigorously, it approached Natasha and nuzzled her knees. Natasha stroked the shaggy ginger head and looked questioningly at Lisa.
“Tash, I got him from the shelter yesterday. You need a friend. I mean, how can you be here alone? Don’t worry; I bought food for him, it’ll last a month. It’s more fun together. He’s called Johnny.”
In the small two-story cottage, it was warm. In the dining room were boxes of canned goods, grains, pasta, flour, and biscuits.
“You sort it out, so you’ll know where everything is. The fridge is stocked. You’ll find clothes for all seasons in the wardrobe. We’re the same size. Let’s have some tea, Tash, and I’ll head off.”
Already donning her coat, Lisa approached Natasha, trying to look her in the eye. But Natasha averted her gaze.
“Tash, this dog was in a kennel for three years. No one wanted him because he’s big and not young anymore. I understand it’s hard for you, but you’ve got me. And for the dog, it’s you. You need something to hold onto to get back to life. Forget David. Everything will be alright. Also, the house is yours; I’ve signed everything over to you. The documents and money are in the bedroom. Tash, let’s live! I’ll be back in a week, call if you need anything.”
Lisa kissed Natasha and drove away.
It was already dark, and she was still sitting in the chair, knees pulled up, face buried. First, she cried, then she told herself how miserable she was, then cursed Lisa for forcing a dog on her. She thought she might just lay down and die—she had no strength to live. But the dog? It would be cruel not to feed him.
Lisa put on a jacket, glanced at her bald head in the mirror, and with the thought, “Let’s not scare the dog; it’s not his fault,” she put on a hat. She found the food, filled the bowl, and went outside.
Johnny devoured the food, licked the bowl clean, then licked the salty tears from Natasha’s face, lay down next to her on the porch steps, and rested his head on her knees.
In the night sky, around the bright full moon, more and more stars began to appear. Natasha spotted the Big Dipper, smiled at it, and blew a kiss. Then she hugged the dog and said:
“Alright, Johnny, tomorrow I’ll cook you some proper oatmeal. With meat.”
All week, when Natasha looked in the mirror each morning, she shuddered and said:
“Annie…”
And every now and then, the thought surfaced: maybe it’s time to give up on this life. Who needs me, really? But then she’d catch sight of Johnny, curled up comfortably by the fireplace, and she’d decide to stick around a little longer.
The decisive moment came when Lisa arrived a week later, as promised. She entered with a box in hand, placed it on the sofa, and said:
“Tash, what do we do with them? A stray cat gave birth in the hallway, can you imagine? It’s cold out there! I brought food as well…”
Inside the box was a skinny ginger cat, wrapping her tiny kittens in her paws. That evening, Lisa left. She lingered at the doorstep, paused, then pulled a slip of paper from her coat pocket and extended it to her sister:
“Tash, oh, David came by, asking about you. I didn’t tell him. This is his new phone number. It’s up to you.”
Natasha accompanied Lisa to her car, waved her off, and returned to the house. She stroked the cat:
“You’ll be Molly. I’ll get you some milk. Everything’s going to be alright.”
As she passed the fireplace, she threw the piece of paper into the fire.
